His Games
by Wanter-of-Self
Summary: Haymitch Abernathy and how he was after winning the 50th Annual Hunger Games. Oneshot, R&R if you would!


**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything, merely having a wee bit of fun

* * *

_**BOOM!**_

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the victor of the 50th Annual Hunger Games!"

**PAGE BREAK**

A low moan escaped the teen that was lying on the pristine white padded table. Both his arms and legs were strapped down to the table; a tube was coming from his right arm and his abdomen was no longer tightly wrapped in gauze as it had been for the past six days.

As the teen came to, his eyelids fluttered open and he stared at the ceiling with blank eyes. He remembered more that he wished was possible; every single second starting from when his name had been called at the reaping was imbedded into his mind. And he despised it.

The one thing that he wished he could forget the most was his only ally. Maysilee Donner - one of the two girls who shared his misfortunes in having their names called at District Twelve's reaping. The blasted girl who had saved his life and then ended up getting herself skewered through the neck by the deadly pink birds' long, sharp, beaks. He wished that he could get her screams out of his head, that he hadn't stayed and held her hand and comforted her as she died. He hadn't exactly wanted to at the time, but... something within him made him stay; made him stay even though he knew that the remaining tributes would come and pick over the area with a fine tooth comb once the hovercraft showed up and took her lifeless body away. They would be looking for her dropped supplies, if there were any. He stayed even though he knew it could mean his death, which he had wanted to avoid at all costs.

The teen shook his head as if that would help chase away such thoughts and memories, but he knew that hellacious recollections like those would stay with him for the rest of his days. A sound to his left caught his attention and he watched as a door slid open and two men in white medical uniforms walked in. He looked at them with curious eyes, while they looked back with indifferent expressions.

"Abernathy, Haymitch?" The taller of the two asked, looking at Haymitch over his square rimmed glasses which were resting on the tip of his nose.

"The one and only," Haymitch answered caustically, now eyeing the two men suspiciously. They were obviously doctors, most likely sent by the President, but why?

Haymitch looked both men over, noting their physical attributes. The taller had relaxed hazel eyes hiding behind his glasses. He was somewhat spindly and it was apparent that he spent a good number of hours outside, or he had simply dyed his skin to look that way. The man's short silvery hair was uptight and uniform, but the lack of lines on his face portrayed him to be a younger man. There was no nametag on his person, at least not that Haymitch could see, so he decided to call the man Jeffery. He certainly looked like a Jeffery.

On the other hand, the shorter man was nearly the opposite of Jeffery. He had longish bright red hair that had fell little past his ears and seemed to be attracted to his face more so than anything, and the man was so pasty white that it looked like his skin had not seen the light of day for years. Haymitch would barely make out the man's tiny, beady, blue eyes among the hair and wrinkles, but they were definitely there. As he was shorter, it only made sense that he was more portly than anyone taller than him. Now he wasn't overweight, but Haymitch could tell that he wasn't in the range that was deemed normal. Like Jeffery, there was no nametag on him, so Haymitch decided to call him Patrick, which was a nice name for the smaller man.

He watched as the two exchanged glances, and then Patrick spoke up, "Mr. Abernathy, we'd appreciated it if we could ask you a few questions, and have you answer them as truthfully as possible."

"Not like I could stop you two if I wanted," He said, attempting to pick his arms up to emphasize his point, "I'm not exactly mobile at the moment." He then rolled his head back so he could stare at the ceiling. He heard the door slide shut as the two men in white medical uniforms walked over and sat in the two chairs provided on either side of his bed.

They both cleared their throats at the same time, which Haymitch thought only further proved his opinion that everyone in the Capitol were controlled by a very specific schedule. It amused him to think of Capitol citizens having allotted times for when they could relieve themselves, when they could breathe, when they could rest, and even when they could blink. The thought made him chuckle internally; externally however, he remained impassive.

"Are you in any pain at the moment, Mr. Abernathy?" the one to his left asked, which he thought to be Jeffery.

"Not at the moment, no," Haymitch answered, then thought to himself, _"However, if I'm kept in this same room for much longer, I just might be..."_

He heard them scribbling something in their notes, and then the one to his right (which was obviously Patrick) asked, "Do you remember the nature of your injuries at all?"

Haymitch scoffed then sneered, "Yeah, I distinctly remember stumbling through the woods holding my guts in, limping because my left calf had been burned by one of those purple flowers, and the cut above my right eye wasn't exactly helping me find a safe-ish place to set my feet down. But if you really want me to specific, I had a small cut on my pinky toe from a blade of grass; I had accidentally bitten my tongue while I hobbled from a mad, axe wielding tribute. Not to mention the plethora of scratches on my arms, face, and legs - courtesy of many vines and branches tripping me up." He did his best to glare at both men at the same time, but as they were on either side of him, he couldn't really accomplish that.

There was a short silence before the room was filled with frantic scribbling. When their scribbling ceased, Jeffery asked, "Do you remember... everything? As in, have you forgotten anything?"

Haymitch couldn't believe how idiotic that question was, "Well, if I have forgotten something, I wouldn't exactly remember it, now would I?" He smirked as the man's jaw went slack, and he outright laughed as the man tripped over his own words in a poor attempt of correcting his question. "Give up on it, it was a stupid question and there's no way you can pluck those words out of the air and eat them."

The man on the left cleared his throat once more, in sync with the man on the right (this made Haymitch grin), "Very well. How much do you remember, then, Mr. Abernathy?"

The grin slid from his face and he answered with a suddenly very dry mouth, "More than any one soul should."

Scribbling once more filled the room and the questions continued on for what felt like an hour and a few of the questions Haymitch though were irrelevant and out of place among all of the medical ones they had asked. When they were finally done with their interrogation, they bid him good day, congratulated him on winning the Games and just as they were leaving, Haymitch asked abruptly, "What was this all about?

The two looked at each other once more, then the shorter one said, "The President ordered two of her own to question you before any others could." And they left the room, giving him no time to question them further.

It could have just been the man misspeaking, but he thought that he had said 'her' and he was almost certain that the President of Panem was a man. But either Snow had some deep dark secret that the public should never know about... or there was another president elsewhere... Or he was just out of it from the morphling that he had heard the man wrong.

**PAGE BREAK**

Haymitch was standing alone underneath the stage waiting to go up. His prep team (Samson, Goliath, and Delilah Stewart, the triplets), his escort (The Clueless Wonder, Effie Trinket), and his stylist (Jon Williams) were already up there with Caesar Flickerman. And since he was the first tribute to win the Games from Twelve in ages, he had had no mentor, so he was due to go up very soon. Jon had been pretty helpful though, hinting about the force field to Haymitch and whatnot. He felt a jolt beneath his feet as he started rising up to the stage, and when he surfaced the level of noise the crowd had been making must have risen by several decibels.

He winced slightly as bright lights met his eyes and the crowd screamed their heads off, he quickly recovered and gave them an arrogant smirk and a small wave, succeeding in making a few women faint. He chuckled, shook his head, and walked over to Caesar and gave him a firm handshake. They exchanged greetings, and then sat down in their respective chairs. Haymitch crossed his legs, and leaned back in the victor's chair, looking completely relaxed. Jon had done well this time in choosing his outfit. He was clad in white dress pants, a green long sleeved shirt with a thin black tie, a white vest, and a white jacket. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he had a green handkerchief in the front pocket of his jacket. However, his favourite part of the whole outfit is the shoes - they were tan, boot-like, and incredibly comfortable.

When Caesar finally managed to shush the crowd, he started out with, "So, Haymitch, I take it that the tributes truly were as 'stupid' as you believed them to be last we met." He used his fingers to make quotations marks in the air when he said "stupid".

"Obviously they were, otherwise you'd be speaking someone else entirely," He said loftily, making the crowd laugh.

Caesar laughed as well, and then says, his voice increasing in volume as spoke, "Shall we watch the recap of the 50th Annual Hunger Games?!"

The crowd cheered wildly, and only got louder as the lights dimmed and a screen pulled down and the Capitol seal appeared on it. Haymitch set his foot back on the ground, leaned forward, and wet his lips as he waited for the show to start. He may have looked completely calm on the outside, but inside his stomach was churning, his mind was whirling, and he was completely unprepared to see the faces of the forty-seven dead tributes.

As always, it started out with the reaping ceremonies from each district and Haymitch allowed himself to study the other forty-seven tributes deeper than he had the first time. He wasn't all that impressed with what he saw - it was all far too predictable. Several Careers volunteering, many more families crying, tons of siblings and best friends screaming and clinging to the newly pronounced tributes. It sickened him.

When the riding of the chariots came on, Haymitch barely spared it a moment of his attention. He simply fixed his gaze on the upper right corner of the screen and stayed impassive through it. All of the flashy costumes - along with the stupid ones - were simply a waste of everyone's time and money. Especially this year, as there had to be twice as many tributes, so there had to be twice as many costumes, and twice as many chariots and horses. Even though it did give sponsors a chance to see the tributes all fancified, wasn't watching their reactions to their names getting pulled and called enough?

Once they got around to the scoring, he paid more attention to it, the first time he had just been watching for the higher numbers as Jon suggested he do. He remembered the taller boy from Two had gotten an 11 which probably helped him survive until the last few days of the Game. He also remembered that one of the girls from Six had gotten a 9, Haymitch though that she had been one of the tributes that had been eaten by the carnivorous squirrels. But he had forgotten Maysilee's scores, so he was surprised to see that she had gotten a 10 - same as him. He had no idea why he had let that slip from his mind, but obviously it had.

When the recap finally got to the actual Games, he practically spaced out through the entire thing. He had already been through it once, why should he see it again? But when he did pay attention - those few times - he felt as if he was watching someone other than himself in the Games. Even though he recognized that the dark haired, olive skinned, teen was none other than himself. It truly was a strange sensation.

He nearly lost it when they showed Maysilee's death scene. He was gripping his hands so tightly that he was certain that he was going to break a bone or tear his skin as he watched the last bird deliver the death blow to his single ally. Haymitch had to shut his eyes briefly to regain control of himself, and then quickly opened them again, hoping that it had looked like he had been blinking, but judging by the look Jon was giving him, he had taken longer than was safe.

He looked back up at the screen just in time to watch One slice his stomach open, which earned several shrieks and screams from the crowd and made him wince. His mood quickly changed and he allowed himself a small smirk when it showed him throwing his knife at her and it imbedding in her eye - the crowd cheered at that point.

They had been sitting there for five, maybe six hours, instead of the normal three when the screen finally went black and the lights came back on. What with twice the normal amount of tributes, you would expect the recap to be longer. But by the time that President Snow appeared on stage, Haymitch was tired of sitting, and he could tell that his prep team was as well. However, Effie seemed to be loveing every second of attention the crowd was giving them.

Haymitch rose from his chair as the President drew nearer with the golden crown now in his hands. The atrocious man stopped about a foot from Haymitch and gave him a terrible grin. "Congratulations," the president said sotto voce, widening his grin. Their eyes locked in which Haymitch refused to become docile - the dangerous glint in his eyes never wavering. It was barely noticeable, but Snow tipped his head to the side and let his eyes linger a second more before shooting an almost indiscernible smirk his way and said loud enough for the crowd to hear, "Congratulations! On behalf of the Capitol, I - the ever humble president of Panem - present you with the Victor's crown!" He lofted it up with both hands and turned towards the crowd to show it off, which earned them all a near deafening roar.

The president chuckled and turned back towards Haymitch and walked closer to place to crown on his head easier. You could have heard a pin drop as the crown was placed on his head, but you couldn't have heard a clap of thunder once Snow pulled his hands away.

However, the elderly man did not pull away and take a seat elsewhere as Haymitch had hoped he would. No, he drew closer and whispered in his ear, "Think you safe, Victor...? No one is - not from everything."

**PAGE BREAK**

The train ride back to District Twelve was more nerve wracking that the one to the Capitol had been. Haymitch couldn't figure out why that was, he only knew that it was. He knew that he should be looking forward to seeing his mother, younger brother and girlfriend. But he was no longer the same person, the Games had changed him, and all he wanted to do for the next fifty years or so was disappear. That wasn't going to happen though. He was now the mentor for District Twelve's future tributes and he had to try to train each boy and girl every year for the rest of his days. That sounded less than appealing.

He let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. His prep team had stayed in the Capitol and he wouldn't see them again until the Victory Tour, but The Clueless Wonder and Jon were with him. So far they both had left him be which he didn't mind at all. He and solitude were becoming fast friends, and he was wondering why he hadn't become acquainted with it beforehand. It was a glorious thing, and it was one of the few things that he decided that he like now, other than a sleep that he couldn't remember what he dreamt.

The nightmares that visited Haymitch in the night belonged in literature alone and not wreaking havoc in the mind of a sixteen-year-old. More than once an Avox or Jon had woken him up because his screams had woken them up. Luckily, he couldn't remember much of his dreams, but he did know that they were horrific. He was always left with a different emotion every time he woke that he could not describe with words, nor did he want to. Haymitch pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled and exhaled deeply, deciding that he would think of something else... but there wasn't a single memory that wouldn't trigger something and lead him back to his time in the arena.

He growled in frustration and rose from his chair and walked over to the window and glared at the passing scenery. The wild flowers in the green meadow reminded him of the clearing in the arena and the blood bath which he had managed to escape, but eighteen others hadn't. Haymitch pounded his fist on the sill of the window and uttered a curse word and looked away from the window and something silver caught his eyes. The silver thing happened to be a steak knife, which lead his mind to him lashing out with his knife at the three Careers who attacked him and Maysilee shooting one of her poisoned darts at the tribute that was about to kill him, and killed him instead.

He once again uttered a string of profanity and he stormed from the car and headed towards his room, nearly everything he passed on his way reminded him in some way of the Games and the arena, just about driving him insane. How could he go on living when wherever he turned he saw something that would trigger a painful memory?

"It's not possible," Haymitch muttered, "It's not possible," he said again, only stronger this time. "It's not possible." He growled through gritted teeth, "It's not possible!" He shouted at the wall, "IT'S NOT POSSIBLE!" He thundered, turning around and glaring at Jon who was now leaning against the frame of his door and said once more, "It's not possible." The man was about a head taller than Haymitch and he had a few piercings either in his nose or ears and was just a pound away from being skin and bones. His black hair was styled so it looked like a wave cresting and his steely grey eyes were resting unwaveringly on the Victor, while a relaxed smile was dancing across his face.

"Sure it is," Jon said, pushing himself upright. "You just gotta find an outlet, and you'll be fine."

"Are you deaf, man?" Haymitch asked heatedly, "It isn't possible! There is no way in Panem that I can go back to living the way I was before."

"Oh, I knew that," Jon said lightly. "No Victor is the same as they were before they were thrust into the arena, but you could make a new 'you' and learn to live with it."

Haymitch was breathing heavily, "And what if I don't want to change?"

Jon tisked and said, "I'm afraid that you've already changed, my dear Haymitch. You must have realized this, and you must also know that there is no going back. There is no unseeing what has been seen."

"Of course I know that," Haymitch growled, he looked down at his clenched fists and said, "I swore I wouldn't let them change me, but I guess that was inevitable."

Jon nodded and said softly, "I could have told you that."

The younger man scoffed and sneered, "Is that so?"

"Yes," Jon answered so quickly that Haymitch looked back up at his stylist/mentor. Jon was just a few centimeters from Haymitch, so it was no effort for him to raise both hands and grab Haymitch's face before the younger and shorter man could flinch away. "It is possible, and you will do it."

Haymitch let out a long wind of breath and said, "Fine. Fine."

Jon smiled and gave the side of his face a light tap and said, "There now that wasn't so hard."

Just then the phone next to Haymitch's bed rang, startling them both. The Victor broke free from his stylist's grip and walked over to the phone and answered it, "Hello?"

"Yes, hello? Would I be speaking to Haymitch Abernathy?" The voice on the other line asked.

"You are." He answered shortly then asked with a furrowed brow, "Who are you, and why have you called me?"

The voice on the other line cleared her throat and said slowly, "I am the Mayor's wife - Margaret Undersee - and I haven't called you." There was a short pause as Mrs. Undersee took a breath, "About two hours ago, there was an explosion in the mines, and I'm so-so sorry... but your family and a young female identified to be your girlfriend... were killed."

* * *

Little oneshot there. I've had this for a while as I had to write a prequel for my English class (that teacher was fantastical) so hurr it be! It's just what I thought might have happened for Haymitch's Games, hence the name.

Review if you please!


End file.
